


now in this twilight

by memesofbees



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Crying, Episode: s02e08 The Blade of Marmora, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Self-Identity, Self-Indulgent in my case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9481850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memesofbees/pseuds/memesofbees
Summary: It was all a fascination.It was never supposed to be his actual fucking life.✦The before and aftermath of Keith telling everybody he's Galra.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was so pressed they didn't include this scene like???? @voltron crew ill square behind the nearest pollo tropical. Smh.
> 
> Seriously tho, I love the cast and crew and wish them the best. This is a just a little bit self-indulgent. I have a playlist for the fic [here](http://8tracks.com/bokutok/i-didn-t-ask-to-be-your-chosen-one) (because i'm dumb and lame) but the title is taken from Broken Crown by Mumford & Sons. Hope you enjoy!

_✦_

_but oh_

_my heart,_ _was flawed_

_I knew my weakness_

_so hold, my hand_

_consign me not to darkness_

✦

He was steering Red, just barely. The gash in his shoulder made it hard to manuever the joystick, but he was able to lean forward and have her do most of it. Shiro was comming the Castle, telling somebody to get a healing pod ready, and Keith stopped him, "No."

" _No?_ Keith, you're bleeding—"

"I'll bandage it up. I don't want to go in a pod right now."

The thought of it. Shiro would have to tell them while he's in there, and that would leave them ogling at him through the glass, like some kind of zoo animal, a freak, a...

A Galra.

God, he'd had his suspicions, obviously. What with the knife— sword now—, all his dad's hints, the feeling in chest when he looked up at the stars and felt... he felt them calling him. But it was different before this.

Before it was the remnants of being a diehard space kid, a sort of dream; he'd converted his dad's old cork board into a conspiracy connector like he saw on the X Files, bought a Discovery Channel brand telescope at the dollar store to find any irregularities in the sky, was still adamant to the fact that a dark figure with beady red eyes he'd seen run in front of his window one night in the barn was the Mothman (Not, as Lance suggested when he heard Keith talk about it with Pidge, just a really stoned guy that wandered out into the desert). 

It was all a fascination. 

It was never supposed to be his _actual fucking life._

Not to this point anyway. He could hear Irony taunting him. Like, sure, this kid really wants to be an alien, right? His whole life, just, has been centered around space. So let's throw him a bone, shall we? Make him part alien.

But let's have the alien part be the one tyrannical race infamous for it's brutal people and annhilation of complete galaxies.

So, no, Irony, that's not what he fucking meant. Jesus Christ.

Shiro frowned at him and called back, "No, you know what, scratch the pod. Start prepping a space in the medwing. It's not fatal, but it's not pretty either."

"Thanks," he muttered when he ended it, still not looking up. The rebels were coming in a separate pod of their own, tailing Red instead of coming with them, but he was kind of regretting not insisting.

What was he supposed to say? _Guess now we know why Zarkon said I fight like one of 'em, huh?_   _This explains that time I bit that kid in kindergarten._

"Keith," because of course it's him that breaks the silence, "you know this doesn't change anything, right?"

He kept his eyes trained forward, "Yeah. Sure."

"Seriously. Look at me."

And call it muscle memory that he listened because Shiro used his Dad Voice, "What? Of course this changes something, Takashi! This changes everything!"

He gave him a stern look, "No it doesn't. Keith, you're still a paladin. You're still part of the team. You're still—"

"Zarkon was a paladin, didn't really change the fact he was batshit." He snapped and whirled his head back, wound aching at the stretch.

He counted three ticks before Shiro collected himself, "Let me finish. You're still my brother, Keith." Keith glanced over, "You being Galra doesn't change _that_. It doesn't change you being part of the family. I can't guarantee everybody's going to take it well. Especially not Allura or Coran. But you've been Galra all this time and haven't blown anything up, at least not on purpose. If we can still love you even after you set half the kitchen on fire, we'll keep loving you now."

"Wow," he prayed to every entity he could think of that he did not start crying right now. "I can't believe you found a way to bring that up. And I was just starting to believe you, too."

"Hey, there's no reason you shouldn't still believe me," he gave a small smile and put his hand on Keith's good shoulder, and Keith could actually see the twelve year old kid he'd met at Space Camp, "but where there's a meme, there's a way, kid."

He blinked the tears away, giving the most disgusting sniffle he could manage, "You better make sure your helmet's turned off so Lance doesn't hear you say that."

Shiro snorted, but he checked anyway.

✦

They arrived to a flurry of Hunk immediately going to help him out, then cringing away, "Oh God, nope, yeah, that looks really bad— sorry, man—"

"It's fine, Hunk," he said, even as he held back a cry as he stumbled down the landing gear and pulled his arm.

"No, I'm helping." He put Keith's other arm over his shoulder and motioned with his head, "Shiro, Allura wants you to take the, um... the Galrans to the control room. To talk."

Shiro nodded and gently put Keith down, so his arm curled up to his chest. He rose an eyebrow, _You'll be fine?_

Keith waved him away.  

He limped over to the medbay, content with letting Hunk chatter way about how worried they all were when Red started attacking. "We thought something bad had happened. And, I mean, obviously," he looked him over, "but we thought _really_ bad."

"'S fine," Keith dared, "I was just... trying to get some answers. I had to do this trial thing."

"Oh..." He was still curious, of course, he was Hunk. But he didn't look like he was really going to start pushing for answers just yet, "Did you get them?"

Keith swallowed a lump of guilt in his throat, "Yeah."

The medwing was composed of rows of floating beds, intended for use when the pods were all filled up. If it was a really minor injury, there was no use to waste energy and dirty up the inside, so they would just patch up here. Everybody else, save Allura and Shiro, was there, hovering around one of the stations on the backdrop of white on white on pale blue light. Coran saw him first.

"Keith!" He waved frantically, spreading all the tools out, "Hunk put him here, please. Shiro said a shoulder laceration, correct? Anything else?"

"Nothing major," he shifted to sit on the bed, "lots of bruising, probably."

Coran bobbed his head, "Okay, okay. We need to sanitize the cut. Start taking that off," he reached for something then cursed, "Quiznak, I forgot my lucky needle. Lance, get it started for me," he rushed away, an orange blur.

Hunk rushed behind him, "I'll go get water and some replenishing bars. Don't pass out."

Lance, who had been surprisingly mute to this point, eyes wide, jaw hanging open when Keith came in, shook his head out, amping up a dazzling smile, "You heard the man, dude. Strip." Keith did _not_ go completely red, thank you very much, "And while you do you can tell us what happened. And why you're wearing _that."_

"And what these are," Pidge but in, kneeling beside him and squinting at the bolts on his neck. "They look technical."

"They are, I think." He shrugged, trying to reach for the lining of the merged fabric at the top of his spine with one hand, "Made me see things that weren't there."

"Holograms?" Her eyes lit up with possibility.

He groaned, contemplating using his slashed shoulder and immediately regretting it when he lifted it, "Yeah, I think."

"So it's bioelectric," she murmured, "fascinating." Her face softened and she leaned back, "Are you okay? What did it make you see?"

_Stop being so selfish. You are a paladin of Voltron._

"Nothing. What I wanted to. Earth. My house," which wasn't a lie. Keith was pleased with himself, and if it weren't for the fact he was still struggling, he'd be a lot more goddamn pleased—

Fingers overlapped his before, slapping him away, " _Berga_ , just let me. Where's the catch?"

"Somewhere there. I didn't see."

Lance fiddled with the top for a bit, continually brushing up against the back of Keith's neck. About a thousand shivers coursed through him before Lance found it, triumphantly hooting. He undid it, Keith feeling the warmth of light as it parted.

Pidge whistled appreciatively, "Man, you gotta let me play with it. You're not using it anymore after this, right?"

"Definitely not," he snorted. "Yeah, Pidge, dissect it all you want. Just sneak it into your room before they start asking about it."

She beamed, bouncing excitedly. Cold air rose goosebumps all over his back and he shrugged the sleeve off one arm before carefully removing it from the other. He hissed as dried blood came off, reopening most of the wound. Pidge stopped him and helped him the rest of the way.

He held his head back to get a good look at it. It was deep enough. Not to see bone or make a sizable slit, but so that it was certifiably leaving a scar and take time to heal. Right now, it was just a mess of smeared up shades of brown and dark red, so he couldn't get a good size tagged on it.

Lance grimaced, "Dude... what happened?"

He brought his other hand up to rub off some of the blood, "I wasn't fast enough to deflect it. I was doing some trials, looking for some answers on something, and I had to fight a bunch of them."

"Did you—"

"Yeah," he interrupted, shutting his eyes and dropping his hand to grip the side of the bed, "I'll explain when everybody's here, okay? I just... don't want to keep repeating myself."

They exchanged a look and Lance nodded, soaking a towel in green disinfectant, "Alright. This is gonna sting like a motherfucker though. Brace yourself."

He clenched his jaw and sucked it up, slamming his foot into the ground more than once to keep from screaming. Lance was close, too close, trying to wipe as gently as he could. Keith could only see him in profile, forehead bunched up in concentration, eyes bright. He wasn't wearing his jacket.

His gaze shifted to meet Keith's stare and he grinned gingerly, "Okay?"

Keith nodded, ripping his face away. Keep it _together,_ man.

It took enough time for Hunk to come back, Coran's needle in hand, other arm laden with his kitchen raid, "Ran into Coran on the way here. Said he had to go and help watch Allura with those 'heathens' here. Which I'm pretty sure means he's gonna do some sick kung-fu moves or something on them," he chuckled. "I don't know, but he sounded determined."

"I mean, they're Galra," Pidge said, catching a water packet thrown at her. "Shouldn't we all be on edge?"

"Yeah," Lance added, finally stopping long enough for Keith to breath normally "They did this to Keith. Even if they're against Zarkon, who's to say they're with us?"

"Or maybe they really are trying to help us," all eyes were on him and he kept them, doing a small motion with his fingers where he usually twirled his knife, "and, uh, we shouldn't judge it so fast."

They all went silent and Lance bumped out one hip, eyebrow poised right below his hairline, "You're... telling _us_ not to judge too fast? Mr. Slash and Dash, who almost actually stabbed a _butterfly_ , is telling _us_ not to judge an evil furry—"

"The butterfly was eight feet tall," Keith protested, "and breathed acid! It was coming at me!"

"It was gonna hug you! And the rebels actually _do_ end up stabbing you and you're all _okay_ with it? What gives, man?"

"Yeah, Keith," Hunk said, steeling himself, "what's going on?"

He gulped and ducked his head, stopping his hand. No. He needed Shiro here. He couldn't do this without Shiro. "Nothing... I'm just... trying to sympathize, is all."

"Weird time to start doing it," Pidge muttered suspiciously. "Weird, shitty time."

Hunk handed him a water and spread out all the other bars on a tray, making sure everybody got before he got one himself, taking a bite and pointing with it, "That's gonna need a lot of stitches. Lance, you're the knitter here."

"Knitting isn't the same as sewing!" Lance gasped, offended.

"Well, I once tried putting two pieces of fabric together and ended up turning them into five." He turned his head, taking another bite, "Pidge?"

She snickered, "Unless you want me to _weld_ it together—"

"I one hundred percent rather you _didn't,"_ Keith said loudly, scooting away. Pidge cackled.

Hunk shrugged, donning the voice he used when he was describing food (picture any commentator from Food Network), "You also seemed to have forgotten your self-Christened name. What was it again? The Tailor—"

Lance stuck his tongue in his cheek, "Fine, fine! As it seems I am the only _competent_ one," he took the needle and the dissolving thread, "I'll thread the needle."

Hunk held up a hand to Pidge and Keith, sipping at his water. They high-fived him, Keith ready to pass out when he accidentally raised his dominant hand. Half-choking on a laugh, Hunk asked if he was alright. Keith scowled at him.

Pidge actually did laugh, the ungrateful little gremlin.

Alteans were some tough S.O.B.s because they actually didn't have any numbing solutions. Healing pods were invented for that, and they could turn their skin thicker if anything. So Keith had to take it raw, snatching one of the bar and biting down on it with the paper still on. Lance steadied his shaking hands to start, fingers already tinted rusty from Keith's blood.

He took Hunk's offered hand to squeeze when the needle first pierced, taking Hunk's frantic, " _Ah!"_ s as an indicator that he was doing it real damn hard. But his skin was currently being sewn shut. So who was really in pain right now?

"Fuck, _Lance,"_  he growled, spitting out the bar, "you could go a bit _slower,_ you know."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated, worriedly chewing on his bottom lip, and if Keith didn't want to wring his neck, he would call it cute. This was the second time today Lance was getting to close for comfort; Keith could once again count the small spattering of freckles on his nose and jaw.

Lance went especially fast and sutured close to the other puncture. Keith's vision shot white.

Finally, after wrapping his entire upper arm and chest in gauze, he was able to get up. He tied the suit around his waist and pointed at Pidge, "I'll drop this off in front of your room later. Keep watch."

She saluted and hurried off, probably already thinking up a dozen scenarios to put them all in.

His ribs were definetely bruised from the knee they took, and his hip hurt from being thrown down so hard, but apart from that, it was all minor. Hunk grabbed a couple of the bars and water packets and shoved them in Keith's arms, putting the rest away for other emergencies, "Eat these. I saw you skip breakfast this morning."

"I wasn't h—"

"No excuse! It's important to stay hydrated and keep your energy up in case you get into, say, a _fight—"_

"And you want me to eat," he glanced down, then up, "all of these?"

"No, but most of them. At least three. All of them," he started walking out, shaking his head, "what do I look like? Some kind of background character created solely for food-based jokes? No. I don't think so... Gotta go feed some Galra is what I have to do. What do they even eat? Human flesh?"

He cringed, looked back at everything in his hands, then to Lance. He was drying his hands, hooking his jacket from another bed with two fingers and hanging it off his shoulder. He turned to Keith and grinned at the bars.

Keith held them up, daring his voice to break as he asked, "Finish them off with me so Hunk doesn't shove his bayard down my throat?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely," he responded suavely, coming up next to Keith. He hesitated before fluttering his jacket out with both hands and putting it around Keith's shoulders, then taking all but one of his horde off him, "Start eating. We'll go to your room to stash everything else."

He barely managed a nod, everywhere the jacket touched feeling like it was about to explode. He matched Lance's stride, snapping open the nutrition bar and taking half of it off.

Lance shuddered, "Jeez, what'd it ever do to you?"

He chomped loudly, swallowing with just as much fervor, "Sewed me up with the same precision as a three year old with safety scissors."

"Listen!" He harrumphed, "I _knit._ Sewing ain't my thing."

"Sure. Whatever makes you feel better," he took a smaller bite this time, looking up at him with a grin that meant to be a smirk. He was sure he imagined the tinge of pink that rose on Lance's cheeks, blamed the dehydration.

He shoved the rest of it in his mouth.

Lance did indeed help him stash everything around, taking a couple for himself as promised. Keith gave him back his jacket, giving a simple, "Thanks for not being an asshole, I guess," in lieu of a proper dismissal. There was no fire behind it. Keith was too nervous for that, there was too much simmering in his stomach, in his brain for him to be remotely angry right now.

Lance tipped an imaginary hat, shrugging into the sleeves, "Much ado to you too, mullet."

Keith rolled his eyes and carefully rolled his shoulders, putting both fists on the middle of his spine to crack it. He always got stiff after doing exercise for too long, be it even, as was the case, a to the death battle. He took a deep breath.

He didn't even fucking realize Lance was still at the door until he cleared his throat, promptly crashed into the frame, then ran out. Keith blinked. His entire body flushed cartoonishly fast.

Groaning, he threw himself on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. The Galrans had his knife. Pardon, rebels. Marmorans? They were still Galran.

He was still Galran.

He groaned again, louder, and dragged both hands over his face. Fuck this. Fuck all of it, honestly. Fuck all of it to hell. It's not enough to be a teenager and have your existential crisis because you find out your mom was an alien, but to be a teenager and have _horomones_ and _feelings_ and—

It was all so disgustingly pink. Don't get me wrong, he liked the color pink. It was his third maybe, or fourth (After red, violet, and— fine, yeah, it was his actual favorite— blue) favorite color. He hated the feeling though. It wasn't describable, it was just _pink_. And, okay, that was a way to describe it...

Listen, shut _up,_ alright? Keith's doesn't need to be called a mess. He knew he was.

Concerning Lance, the feelings were pink. They were bubbly and sickeningly sweet and always went straight for his heart. He would smile wide, or laugh at his own stupid joke, or pump everybody else up during a team building exercise and, wow, that just really got Keith's some type of off didn't it?

That was a joke. If his heart could though, yeah, sure. Call it that.

But he couldn't even focus on that. He sat up, elbows settling on his knees. He had to explain the yellow feelings. Not bright yellow, not Hunk yellow. Acid, mucus, Galra eyes yellow. The kind he thought saw greet him in the mirror a couple of times.

He shuddered, remembering he should get dressed. He should be working out how to break it to everybody that they were, in fact, sleeping with a Galra all these months. Go figure.

He untied the sleeves and kicked the suit off, knowing Pidge won't care in what condition it's in as long as it's functional. He pulled on his pants, boots, then shirt, hooking on his belt before his jacket.

There. This was him. This was Keith Kogane.

He hugged his arms around his biceps, dropping them to reach into one of his satchels and pull out his gloves. He examined them a tick, then fastened them on his hands.

Now he looked like himself, right? No Galran outfit, no tech (that he knew of) on him. He slumped.

It won't change anything. They'll still... he has to...

He straightened, clenching and unclenching his aching hands. If not now, if he hid it, and they found out... they'd never trust him again. Lance wouldn't even look at him.

Not assuming he will after knowing right now. But, y'know. Keith's hopeful. Perhaps a passing glance of disgust will suffice.

✦

"...and you are sure he knows nothing about your... organization?"

"We have squadrants of agents stationed in various locations throughout the Galra empire," Kolivan said respectfully, "if Zarkon, or any other general, found out, we would know. And even if one of our agents were discovered, they will not give up our location. You know my race to be evil, Princess," Allura's hands stiffened, "but we are loyal to our causes."

Keith's stomach flipped up into his chest. He walked in, hands in his jacket pockets, looking as indifferent as he could manage with dozens of tiny people running and screaming, putting out short circuits in his brain and screaming, _"WE'RE SCREWED!"_ He bumped his elbow into the side of Pidge's head, jerking his head back at the corridor to indicate he'd dropped the suit off.

She nodded, raising her eyebrows, then pat his arm.

Lance saw all of this happen, and squinted, "Did you guys just... pass off a drug deal or something?"

"Yes," Pidge affirmed, grave, "you'll recieve your mil by the dawn, Kogane."

"I better, Holt," Keith gave a sharp nod. Hunk snorted.

Shiro spotted them, still in armor, and kicked off the chair he'd been leaning on. Keith saw him tap on okay sign against his thigh and wished he had that polaroid hanging on his wall of Shiro's perfect imitation of the Pacha doing two of the same signs meme. Damn.

He returned it, facing forward again.

Allura had her arms crossed tightly, fingers drumming an irregular beat on her biceps. She usually did this when she was agitated, analyzing. Her eyes passed over Kolivan and Anton every so often. Coran was standing very close to Anton, poised to strike.

Their official business thing continued for a bit, everybody talking quietly until they finished, Allura holding out a stiff hand to shake, which Kolivan did, "Then I suppose we have an alliance. We must start aligning our plans immediately." She caught sight of Keith and her eyes widened. The gauze was slightly visible, even through the high collar of his jacket.

"Keith, what happened to you?" She glanced warily, wide going narrow, "What did they do?"

"It's not—" He cleared his throat, stepping forward, hands up, "They didn't do anything, Allura. I volunteered."

"Volunteered? Whatever for?"

He shoved his hands back, taking a shaky breath. Shiro did a reassuring Dad Pat on his back. He would have laughed, but, oh, was this _such_ a read the mood moment.

So he explained everything. He walked forward and held out his hand for his knife, given to him tentatively. He motioned with it as he talked, the weight reassuring.

Everybody kind of gaped at the symbol, now glowing, on the hilt. Allura took a step back. 

But Keith ain't no fool. He didn't say shit about his dad. Why in the Sam hell would they need to know anything about that?

"...so I asked them to take it. I know who I am, and my baggage wasn't about to get in the way of our best shot at defeating Zarkon. We came for an alliance, we were getting one. And... after... when I said that. This. I'm..." Keith shut his eyes, holding the knife out, blade down, in front of him. He didn't have to open them, felt the energy course up his arm. Somebody squeaked.

He opened his eyes, because if he was going to do this, he wasn't gonna be a pussy about it, "I'm Galra."

Even Shiro, the effing traitor, looked shocked. He kind of blinked, giving a weak smile of support. He shot a glare and a telepathic message at him, _I should have left you in that science facility, you dick._

_But ya didn't._

It was more than a little awkward standing with the sword like that so he relaxed, swung it in arc so he was holding it normally. And, God this stung, even though they'd seen him do it millions of times with his bayard, twice the size of this blade, not one of them (excluding Shiro, but that still doesn't redeem you) didn't flinch. There was a thump behind him.

He ducked his head, taking a step toward his station.

He didn't even want to think about what Allura or Coran could be thinking (He had the suspicion, however, that the thump had been Coran fainting). After a few dozen years of awkward silence, where Keith died, was rebirthed, and died again, only to be rebirthed in the same body at this exact same moment, Pidge spoke up, voice uncharacteristically quiet, "So you... you found out right now? You never... did you know?"

"No," Keith enunciated, "I had...  right before the wormhole, when we were rescuing Shay, some things tipped me off, but I never... and it wasn't until I saw the symbol on Ulaz's sword that the possibility was there."

"You're Galra," Hunk repeated simply, finally showing a sign of life.

Keith scratched against his glove, "Yes."

"That's why... when we were, in the medbay..." his entire body snapped, "Why didn't you tell us then?!"

"I wanted to have everybody here," Keith replied, taking every ounce of his self-control (ha!) to not stomp his foot, "it was easier like this."

Hunk leaned forward, as if looking for something, "And you seriously didn't know? Absolutely nothing clued you in? No glowing eyes, no purple patches of—"

"Believe me when I say, if I'd known earlier, I wouldn't be as calm as I am now."

Which was a blatant fucking lie, Keith was freaking out, you know this, I know this. Cut to:

Allura slowly backing away, bumping into Shiro before turning and walking briskly toward her room. His brother glanced at him and Keith nodded miserably.

Shiro chased after her, "Princess, wait!"

Which left three and a half humans, two and a half Galra, and one very much unconscious Altean. Pidge sat up, adjusting her glasses, "Well, um... you know what this means, right? You're, like, an actual, real-life cryptid."

He could almost taste the tears coming up. He blasted them down, but gave a watery grin anyway, "Yeah. I... I guess I might be."

But, see, thing is, Keith didn't _want_ to be a cryptid. Shocker, yeah, I know. He didn't want to be a cryptid. He didn't want his friends, his new family, to be staring at him as bug-eyed as they were now. The actual thing was so much worse than anything his imagination could bring up. He shrank the sword back down and placed it on his chair.

Was erasing their memories to drastic to think about? He should have gone to all of them individually or something. Or just _not_. Like, at all.

Because Pidge wasn't quiet. And Hunk wasn't angry. And Lance... Lance. He'd been avoiding looking at Lance.

He was boring into the side of Keith's head, mouth slightly parted, eyebrows twitching. This wasn't what he expected. He expected an outburst, a high-pitched, _"What?!"_  Some joke, some insult. Anything.

Never nothing.

Nothing was always so much worse.

He peeled his dry tongue from the roof of his mouth, "I... I'm sorry. I never should've..." He took a too loud start forward and Pidge jolted back.

Yeah, is there a way to just, take crying and... make her... stop? Please? Keith put a hand over his mouth, circling around their gathering at Pidge's station, "I'm..."

She shook her head, "Keith, wait—"

"I'm— I'm sorry," he babbled it out, shoved it into the air, lit it up for them to see. I'm sorry. For what? Why the hell was he apologizing?

Existing?

He dropped his hand and booked it, ignoring the protests (Lance shouted his name, and it shouldn't've felt the way it did) as he disappeared hard right. His room wasn't too far away from the control room, but he kept running anyway.

There was no point. They weren't chasing after him, no one was going to come _looking_ for him. Why would they?

But he kept going, just until every breath hurt his chest and he was burning and the pounding in his head substituted any semblance of thought. He wasn't sure if it was sweat or tears dripping off his chin. He finally slammed into his room, collapsing on the wall of the entrance.

The wall grated his back, his shoulder as he slid down, hard swallows of air hurting his lungs. They just kept replaying.

Hunk's wide eyes.

Coran falling.

Pidge's split-second of terror.

Allura _leaving_.

Lance's horrified expression.

If he banged his head on something hard enough, would they go away? Well, no use knocking 'till —

"Keith?"

He snapped his head up so fast, his neck cracked. Lance was sitting right at the edge of his bed, holding his knife in both hands. His throat made this big show of him swallowing.

Keith took a ragged breath, trying to look collected despite what wreck he felt like, "What do you want?"

"I..." he worried at his lip once, placed the knife beside him on the bed, "I was bringing this back. I didn't think you'd... come back there."

Instead of answering, he focused on Lance's hand, still hovering over the hilt, slowly traveling up his arm until reaching his face. "You don't have to pretend to be okay with it. I saw your face back there. But thanks anyway."

The wrinkle reappeared on his forehead and Lance crossed one leg, "Who says I'm pretending?"

Keith raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Fine, I'll admit I'm..." He ran a hand through his hair, "I'm shook, okay? But it's not every day you find out your... friend is an alien." That hesitation, right before he said friend. It skewered into Keith's chest, cemented the dread churning in his gut.

Friend.

Ha.

"Your... friend," Keith repeated slowly, roughly wiping at his face with the sleeve of his jacket. He stood in one motion, hands flexing at his sides, "Yeah. Okay. Well you came to drop off the knife. And you did it. You know where the exit is."

Lance almost pouted, "I'm trying to talk to you here! I want to help—"

"Help?" Keith didn't mean it to come out a scoff, but, oh well, "Help me what? Cope?"

"I mean," he dropped his hands in his lap, looking up sheepishly, "yeah?"

"Okay," Keith nodded, motioning a hand at him, "okay. So you lost the coin toss with Pidge and Hunk. It's your job to help me now."

Lance interrupted, confused, "No... no that's not—"

"No, really," he felt something rising up again and forced it down, crushed it back into his bones, "go ahead. Shrink me—"

"We didn't  _have_ a coin toss. I chose to come talk to you."

"Why the hell would you do that?"

He blew a rasberry, “’Cause you’re my _friend_ , you idiot. And I thought you might want to talk to someone.”

Keith laughed dryly, “Oh, yeah, totally. My entire world was just completely flipped on it’s axis—No, screw that, forget the fucking axis, I’m currently spiraling into the fucking _sun_ right now, but, sure, let’s _talk.”_

“Keith,” he said it carefully, slowly stacking some weight on it, “I’m being serious—“

“So am I.”

Lance got to his feet, leaning forward, the first signs of conflict, “I don’t understand why you’re getting so pissed about this.”

“I’m _Galra,_ Lance,” he threw his arms out, “did you understand _that?_ It sure seemed like it when you looked like I pulled a gun between your eyes back there!”

His face conflicted, settling on an annoyed twist of his mouth, “I was fuckin _g surprised,_ Keith! I _am_. You—You drop a bomb like that—“

“I’m sorry,” Keith made sure his voice was dripping with enough acid to burn holes through the floor, “for having enough trust in my friends that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t judge me too harshly for something _I_ hate about myself. I’ll remember to take _your_  feelings into account—“

“That’s not what I meant and you know it—“

“I don’t need your _pity_ , Lance,” his bones were cracking, “I don’t need you to stand here and lie to me about wanting to talk to me. _I_ wouldn’t want to talk to me,” releasing, “hell, I’m not even sure I’d stand being in the same room! So what’s your damage, Lance? What do you _want?_ What, to make yourself feel better—“

They gravitated toward each other when they fought. It was a subconscious effort, a silent dare for the other to back down. Lance wasn’t a foot away now, voice rollercoastering in pitch, up, down, loop de loop. His shoulders were shaking and Keith wanted to grab him by them and smash their mouths together.

“No. No, not to— Keith, why can’t you just accept the fact that I—I _care_ enough to come here. I care about you!”

“Why?” Keith dared to do it, to close the foot in half, to allow whatever was ebbing out through the cracks to overtake him, the words sinking into his skin, “Why the fuck do you care?”

"You're my—"

And, frankly, Keith couldn't take Lance saying it again. Not because he was petty and lovesick (he was, just independent of the situation), but because he knew it would sound forced, like the millisecond Lance takes before starting it every single time. If he was going to pour the gasoline over the entire house, might as well light the match too, right?

His shoulders were shaking and Keith grabbed him by them and smashed their mouths together.

Oh. So Lance was the one leaving his toothpaste open. Go figure.

He slipped his hands down, curling his fingers into Lance's shirt. Lance's eyes were wide open, just until Keith roughly pushed him away. His eyes flooded with tears he didn't know he was holding back, running in rivulets down his cheeks,

Lance gawked.

He took a step back, "I didn't... I meant to do that."

"Yeah," Lance said faintly, "I can tell."

"I just want you making your decision with the whole truth," he mumbled, finally just ripping off his jacket to wipe at his face. The only noise was the fabric rustling; Lance's breathing.

His lips were tingling and he wanted to touch them, but he'd just kissed Lance unsolicited, so why would he want to make himself look weirder? All the feeling was still there, and his body was aching in an effort to contain it all. He still wanted to yell at someone, get angry.

"What," he cleared his throat, "what decision?"

"To be my... friend. I don't know," he tossed the jacket on the bed and turned to look through his drawers, trying to seem like Lance just standing there, looking like a goddamn idiot, didn't give shove a lead cannonball down his throat, "feel like if you aren't going to hate me for being Galra, you could—"

Lance closed a hand around his bicep, whirling him around and pressing him back against the dresser. It was softer this time, because Lance was initiating it. Not the action. The metal top was digging into the small of his back with the amount of force Lance had on him.

Keith stuttered out a gasp that Lance swallowed.

The ache moved, focused in on his mouth, his tongue. Keith leaned forward, gripping Lance's waist, pulling their hips together. It curled on every point of contact, the bumps of his pelvis. 

Lance carded one hand into Keith's hair, the other cupping his jaw. He melted into the touch, only stopping to turn his head into the palm of Lance's hand, kissing the heel.

Goddamn tear ducts were having all the fun today, huh? They were taking advantage of his situation. Assholes.

He closed his eyes tighter, bringing up his own hand to press Lance's closer. Lance's nose brushed right below his eyebrow, lips brushing against his eyelashes. A hot trail escaped. Lance brushed it away.

"I care," he whispered, a grin that wasn't entirely innocent slanting on his face.

"Yeah," Keith said, just as quietly, hating the way his voice broke, "I can tell."

His knees were going weak as Lance left another kiss on his temple, his cheekbone, butterfly soft. "I care a lot, actually," the tip of his ear, corner of his eye, "so much—"

"Does this mean you still want to be friends?"

Lance contemplated this, looping his arm around Keith's back, "No. I annul our friendship."

The reassuring weight at his cheek said otherwise, and he felt himself crumbling, Lance going down with him. He hiccuped, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Lance ducked, going for the underside of his jaw, "tryin' out another kinda -ship. Related to... no, that'll sound really bad. Scratch that. Want to be my boyfriend?"

He absolutely loathed what a mess he was right now, falling forward so his face was buried in Lance's chest.  "I'm still Galra. In case you forgot."

"In case  _you_ forgot," he peeled Keith off and tipped his chin up, sitting cross-legged between his legs, "I let my ass get handcuffed to a tree by Nyma. I almost had my head bit of by Xymax back on Ghyu. You're twice as hot as they were, and just as much human."

He choked on a sob, and Lance kissed him sweetly, lovingly. Pink was sitting pretty. staining his skin. It'd never looked better. "Do you think if I kiss everybody else it'll get them to like me again, too?"

"As your boyfriend, no." The word bounced around in Keith's skull, melting all the frozen possibilities, "As your real friend, also no."

Keith snorted.

"Real talk, we love you, babe. It just... it'll take a second to adjust. The Galra took Pidge's family and wiped out Allura and Coran's entire race—"

"Gee, thanks—"

"—and once they  _realize_ you're still your brooding, insufferable self, they'll chill out. Hunk'll be shaky for a bit, ask lots of questions, but you know him."

"I get it." He muttered. They moved to his bed and were still for so long the lights went out, leaving the faint glow of the stardust he'd collected some planets ago. 

Keith hugged Lance closer to him, breathing in his avocado shampoo, the ever-present warmth of home. And... "You're the one that's been stealing my toothpaste."

Lance hummed confirmation, "I ran out. Plus it was funny to watch you get mad."

"Asshole."

"Sweetheart," he kissed the hollow of his collarbone.

Keith still had ways to go, he thought. With himself, mostly. Major shifts were happening, holes in logic left over. His mom could still be alive. That was a possibility now. He could have an entire family out there he never knew about. And they were rebels, _she_ was a rebel. 

He was a rebel then too, right?

He was Galra.

No. No, he wasn't. He wasn't a Blade of Marmora because he was human.

He was a paladin.

"Lance," he whispered, "I'm human."

Lance laughed, "Yeah, babe. I know."

So Lance hovered a hand over the small of his back when he had to face Allura the next morning. Lance sneaked a quick make out session in the hallway before they split up for the plan.

Lance held him together, kept him from flying apart when Shiro disappeared, carried him silently back to his room and smoothed down his hair.

Because apart from it all, all who he was: Galra, rebel, Garrison's top, paladin, human.

He was Keith Kogane.

And whoever took his brother was about to catch a very sharp sword up their ass.

**Author's Note:**

> dm me a story on my [tumblr](http://mcclainnkogane.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ✦ Comments & Kudos Appreciated Af ✦


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